


floriography, and other inexact sciences

by PersonalSpin



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Based on a Tumblr Post, Falling In Love, Florist AU, Flowers, Hospitals, Language of Flowers, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Multiple, Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonalSpin/pseuds/PersonalSpin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Vint came storming into the shop, by-passing all the flower displays to walk right up to the counter and slap an obscene amount of money down. “How do I tell a person to fuck off with flowers?” he asked.</p>
<p>Bull falls in love pretty much immediately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is based off that [tumblr post.](http://inediblesushi.tumblr.com/post/146179754329/flower-shop-au)

The Vint came storming into the shop, by-passing all the flower displays to walk right up to the counter and slap an obscene amount of money down. “How do I tell a person to fuck off with flowers?” he asked.

Krem looked at him, then down at the truly absurd number of bills under the man’s hand, then back up at him again. The other Vint just lifted his chin and stared down the end of his imperious nose at him. Iron Bull had never seen a nose look imperious before but somehow this guy managed it.

“We’re a florists,” Krem said eventually, edging a look at Bull. “You want to tell someone you’re sorry, or congratulations, we can do that--”

“No, no,” the Vint said, cutting him off sharply. “None of those things. You think I couldn’t pick up some roses or tulips or whatever else if I wanted to congratulate someone?” Krem opened his mouth and shut it again, seemingly at a loss for words. The man didn’t seem fazed, carrying on the conversation all by himself. “What I need is flowers to show someone that my presence is by no means voluntary and that I would much rather be somewhere else far away, not thinking about them, preferably whilst drinking. Do you think you can do that?”

Krem blinked at him. It was even odds whether he was going to laugh at the Vint before kicking him out or throw a bundle of daffodils at him for twice their price and then kick him out. Either option seemed like a loss to Bull, so he decided to step out from behind the lilies he was supposed to be restocking. He gave a pointed cough and the Vint gave him an arched look for daring to interrupt his conversation.

“A bouquet of yellow carnations would do the trick,” he said, which got his attention, judging by the arched eyebrow. Krem took the opportunity to disappear into the back, probably to chat shit about the guy with Skinner and Dalish.

“Oh, is that so?” he said. Bull was prepared for the assessing look he gave him. A seven-foot tall, war-scarred Qunari was something of an oddity even in a place like Skyhold. Even stranger to find him working at a florists -- never mind that he owned the place. Most people seemed surprised to find that The Iron Bull had something of a green thumb and a love of growing things, so he didn’t take the long look-overs personally.

What did surprise him was the gleam in the Vint’s eye once he’d finished his inspection and the unconscious way he licked his lips. Bull smirked and leaned an elbow on the counter. “Yeah. ‘You have disappointed me’.”

“That seems unfair,” the man said, curling the end of his moustache around his finger. “I haven’t even introduced myself.”

Bull laughed. “No, the flowers. Yellow carnations tell a person they have disappointed you. That a big enough ‘fuck off’ for you, big guy?”

The Vint smiled, and there was something dangerous about that look that made Bull want to jump in with both feet. “I think we can do a little better than that. What I require is something stronger than ‘disappointment’.” He held out his hand. “Dorian Pavus.”

“The Iron Bull.” Dorian had a good handshake, firm without trying to prove how big and tough he was by crushing Bull’s fingers. Judging by his look when Bull’s hand completely engulfed his, and the delighted blush that pinked his cheeks attractively, Dorian thought Bull had a very nice handshake as well.

“Now then,” Bull said, drawing his hand back slowly, grazing his fingers along the back of Dorian’s hand for the way it made him blush harder and lick his lips again. “If you want something better, you’ll have to tell me the occasion. Cheating ex? Arsehole relative getting married? Coz if that’s the case, I know a really good bakery that does some amazing, anatomically correct cakes that’d go great with some ‘fuck off’ flowers.”

Dorian let out a bark of laughter, throwing his head back in a moment of surprise. “No, nothing like that, though I’ll have to ask you for that bakery. I have friends who would appreciate that sort of thing.” His smile faltered quickly. “Perhaps it would be better if it were so simple. Promise you won’t think too poorly of me?”

“Sure, Dorian,” Bull said, putting on his least judgemental face.

Dorian still took a moment, rapping his fingers against the counter for a moment and chewing on his lip in thought, before sighing. “The truth is that my father is in hospital.” Bull quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t judge. Our relationship has been, hmm, difficult of late. He doesn’t approve of my choices, which is putting it politely. He thinks I’m a disgrace to the Pavus name.”

Bull’s wrecked eyebrow joined the other up by his horns. “And now you’re buying him flowers?”

“Yes,” Dorian said, an adorably irritated look wrinkling his nose. “We weren’t always at odds. When I was growing up we were very close, but then -- well.” He sighed again. “It would be easier to ignore this and continue blithely on my merry way -- and part of me wishes exactly that -- but he requires someone to look after him. For some reason known only to the Maker and him, he called _me_. I couldn’t say no. And here we are.” Dorian gestured dramatically, encompassing himself, Iron Bull, and the rest of the flower shop.

“Buying flowers for your old man,” Bull said. “Flowers that will tell him to fuck off because you can’t.”

“Exactly,” Dorian said, looking extremely put-upon. “I’ve been told, and by my father no less, that flowers are absolutely essential so I have no choice in the matter. He needs them to brighten up the lifeless little hospital room he’s in until he can bully his way into a better one. I don’t begrudge him that, but it would --” Dorian ducked his head, and for a moment the fiery Vint who’d come storming into a florists to stick it to his father was lost beneath someone else. Bull didn’t know shit about families that existed outside of the Qun but he recognised the look of a man conflicted. But then Dorian’s head came back up and Bull could see the fire again, banked low but sparking in his eyes.

“It would help,” Dorian said, “while my father is no doubt churlishly asking a great deal of my time and patience, to look over at the flowers and have something to smile about. Even if it’s just a private joke between myself and the florist.”

Bull was silent for a long moment, looking down at Dorian while his emotions did something complicated. “OK,” he said. That sounded too serious, he knew it and so did Dorian; he frowned at Iron Bull like he wasn’t quite sure how to take such a laconic response. Bull clapped a hand to Dorian’s shoulder and smiled at him. “OK, big guy, I get you. Something stronger than ‘disappointed’ is definitely needed.” The moment, whatever it was, was broken and Dorian gave him another one of his sharp-toothed smirks.

The yellow carnations were a good starting point, would definitely brighten up the hospital room, as would the delicate off-white ranunculuses Bull added to the bouquet.

“What do these ones mean?” Dorian asked, running a finger gently along a cream petal.

“A lotta flowers, it’s not that simple,” Bull said, browsing through the rest of his flowers. “Some of them have two, three meanings, some times more. Sometimes they all contradict each other. Yellow roses are for friends, but they also mean infidelity and jealousy.”

“That seems like a poor way to communicate,” Dorian said, and Bull turned to grin at the frown he was giving some poor bouquet of tulips. “How is one expected to know what message they’re sending and what they’re getting back?”

“Context,” Bull said with relish, laughing at the way Dorian wrinkled his nose. “Yellow roses with Baby’s Breath would be a good friendship bouquet, but you put them with marigolds and you’re saying you're in despair.”

“I’m hardly despairing for my father,” Dorian said haughtily, nose once again in the air.

“I’m not putting marigolds in your bouquet. They’re mourning flowers, seems morbid to give them to a man in hospital.”

“I take your point.” Dorian leaned against the counter, watching Bull stalk back and forth, muttering to himself as he tried to sort through his flowers meanings. Bull half-expected him to ask how he’d become a florist, he had that look on his face Bull had seen before when people got curious. He’d usually fob them off with a charming smile and some half-truth about needing a change of scenery; he’d probably do the same with Dorian, but he didn’t ask.

“Ingratitude,” Bull said, rather than think any longer about the look on Dorian’s face. “The wild ones anyway. Domestic ones mean you find the person you’re giving them to charming.”

“That’s a little off the mark, Iron Bull. I’m not paying you to compliment my father.”

“It’s The Iron Bull. And you haven’t paid me yet,” Bull pointed out, smirking at Dorian’s irritated huff and the edge of a smile he could see twitching his moustache. “I don’t keep wild ones so the domestic kind will have to do. I’m looking for a third one now to really round off the message, cement that ‘fuck off’ you’re going for.”

“Can it even be accomplished, working as you are with such an inexact science.” Dorian had his arms crossed and was levelling a flat look at Bull that would have scorched the horns off a lesser Qunari, but Bull had dealt with far worse in his shop than one pretty Vint scowling at him.

He stalked over to him, looming over him for a moment and watching as his pouty lips parted and Dorian looked up, and up, at Bull. “Don’t worry, big guy,” Iron Bull purred, “I’m very good.” Dorian let out a soft sigh as his eyes went wide, and Bull grinned with all his teeth. Dorian wasn’t the only one with a dangerous smile, and it was gratifying the way Dorian couldn’t seem to think of a response to that.

Bull stepped around him before Dorian could get his breath back and pushed open the door to the back room. “I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder.

The wedding order Krem had been working on was somewhere in the back and he headed towards it, passing the break room on the way over. Bull poked his head around the door and caught Krem and the rest of his employees sitting around with opened bottles of beer from the mini-fridge in the corner.

“Chief!” Krem called, the flush sitting high on his cheeks telling Bull he was into his second beer already. “You finished with the Vint up front yet?”

“You’re a Vint too, Krem,” Bull grunted. “And no. Just came back to grab something.”

“When you’re done, come have a beer with us,” Dalish said, holding up a bottle.

“You should be working,” Bull said. Skinner promptly made a farting noise at him. “What do I even pay you for?”

“To keep us off the street and out of trouble,” Dalish said solemnly. Grim grunted his agreement and Rocky lifted his beer in a toast before finishing it off. Bull shook his head and left them too it.

Filching a couple of dark purple anemones from the wedding arrangement was probably going to end with Krem nailing his ass to the wall, but if he couldn’t handle some missing flowers Bull really didn’t know what he was paying him for. He walked back past the break room, ignoring their calls to come join them for a light bit of day drinking, and made his way back to the front. Dorian was exactly where Bull had left him, having recovered some of his composure if his arched brow was anything to go by.

Iron Bull held up his find with a triumphant smile. “Tada!” he sang.

“I’m to assume these flowers have a harsher connotation than those you've suggested so far?” Dorian said, leaning his hip against the counter and fighting a losing battle not to smile.

“Anemones have plenty of meanings,” Bull said, walking behind the counter to put the flowers with the carnations and ranunculuses. “The lighter ones are all about expectation, anticipation. Makes them a popular wedding flower.”

“Well, I certainly expect to be disappointed and anticipate his ingratitude,” Dorian said, rolling his eyes. Bull snorted. “What do the darker colours mean?”

Bull paused, arranging the flowers to buy him a little time to think. “Estrangement,” he said, and Dorian hummed thoughtfully so he probably hadn’t noticed Bull’s hesitation.

“Disappointment, ingratitude, estrangement,” he said, running a finger over his bottom lip in thought, pouting ever so slightly as he regarded the bouquet, and Bull was absolutely not distracted by thoughts of what he could do to that plush lip. “Yes, I think so.”

“What?”

Dorian gave him a flat look, lowering his hand away from his mouth to rest against the counter. “I was saying yes to your bouquet, Iron Bull. The little narrative you’ve constructed is a fair summary of our relationship over the last few years.” He sniffed. “Though not the ‘fuck off’ I was hoping for, I suppose it will do.”

“Glad it gets your approval, big guy.” Bull set to work trimming the stems and wrapping the flowers, forgoing one of the prettier ribbons for something more utilitarian. When he refused to be hurried by impatient fingers tapping away at the counter or melodramatic sighing, Dorian wandered away to browse the rest of the store.

Bull hadn’t been lying in the strictest sense; dark anemones simply tended to be parsed closer to abandonment and loneliness, love that had faded. He hadn’t wanted Dorian to think he was passing judgement on him and his dad -- he _had_ promised not to. Bull picked up the finished bouquet and several of the bills Dorian had left on the counter; even if the flowers had been worth that much, Bull figured his business could survive if he gave Dorian a bit of a discount. He could probably use it; it might even get Bull another smile.

Iron Bull found Dorian inspecting the small display of cacti, hands cupped around a little prickly pear in a terracotta pot with a gentle look on his face. He looked up sharply when he noticed Bull, looking like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been before his face smoothed out and Dorian smiled at him, haughty and a little distant. “Finished then? I’d also like to buy the cactus, please.”

Bull waved him off, handing over the bouquet and Dorian’s change. “Keep it. On the house.” Dorian was opening his mouth to argue, Bull could tell by the crease in his brows. “Consider it payment for making you talk about your dad then. Must’ve been tough to tell that to a stranger.”

Dorian chuckled, his cheeks pinking again as he looked pleased and a little embarrassed. It was a good look for him, but Bull suspected everything looked good on him. “I don’t imagine you’d intended to get a sob story when you asked what the occasion was.”

“No, but you looked like you needed to tell someone. I’m glad I could help.”

Dorian blinked at him, smiling shyly. “So you did. You have my thanks.”

“No problem.” Bull bit down on the urge to tell him he was happy to help, again, and they stood in awkward silence. Dorian seemed to be waiting for him but Bull didn’t know what else he could say, and the moment passed when Dorian smiled at him sweetly. He really did have a nice smile.

He left with a small glance over his shoulder, and Iron Bull was left staring after him at the closed door for several disconcerting moments before he laughed at himself. Bull headed to the back room and gratefully took the beer Dalish held out, settling on a crate they’d repurposed as furniture with a sigh. He took a deep pull, closing his eyes to enjoy it. When he opened them, he realised that everyone in the break room was staring at him.

“What?”

“What was up with the Vint shem, Chief?” Skinner asked. Bull didn’t miss the way everyone leaned in, or the piercing look Krem was giving him.

“Family stuff,” he said gruffly. Bull raised his beer to Krem. “I fuckin’ hate Tevinter.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Krem said. Everyone raised their beers in a toast and downed them.


	2. Chapter 2

If Sera had to pick a person least suited to giving romantic advice, Dorian would have been a solid choice, in his own opinion. He hadn’t had anything approaching a romantic relationship since he’d left Tevinter -- he hadn’t had the time. Dorian wasn’t proud of it, but he was working with what he had. Sera _knew_ this. She was the one who pointed out that he was currently suffering from a spell, to quote, ‘so dry that the Hissing Wastes were pouring out his britches.’

“Please,” Dorian said while not pulling a face. He was an adult and above such things, even if Sera tended to bring out the worst in him. “It’s not been that bad.”

Sera snorted at him. “You’re all chafed raw and prickly, you can see it from space.”

“Then why are you asking me how you should propose to Dagna?” Dorian raised an eyebrow, taking a measured sip of his coffee while Sera made a desperate noise and slumped over the table. He probably should’ve seen something coming, in hindsight, when she’d invited him to the nice coffee shop across from the art studio she and Dagna rented for painting and metalworking, respectfully. Since when did Sera take him anywhere but the little place with the cakes they drizzled with local honey?

“You and Widdle, you talk magic shite and it makes her all shiny from the inside out,” Sera mumbled into the table.

“You make her happy too, you know.”

“Yeah, but--” Sera chewed anxiously on the pad of her thumb. “Wanna make her glow, yeah? Can’t buy her rings, she sees plenty of that pish. Gotta be big but all I have’s small and Widdle’s not small. I mean, she’s down there but to me she’s the biggest. The best.”

“I don’t know if I can help,” Dorian said, and Sera groaned like she was dying. “It has to come from you or it’s not meaningful.”

“The only _meaning_ ,” she said slowly, like Dorian was being deliberately stupid, “is ‘marry me, Widdle. I wanna be your wifey and do wifey shite together, like when we fought over what to paint the bedroom walls, only forever.’ Should be simple, innit? Why isn’t it simple?”

“What colour did you two decide in the end?”

Sera’s sigh was long-suffering. “Did the green but we painted bees all over.”

He hummed noncommittally to make Sera whine but was already thinking about what _meaningful_ could be. It wasn’t very long until he’d distracted himself by thinking about the Iron Bull again. It was a week since he’d been to the florists, and visiting his father in hospital had been a little less odious for the bouquet he’d brought him. However, the meaning of the flowers had quickly been forgotten in favour of the memory of the man who’d given them. Sold them. Dorian had tried telling himself that the distinction was an important one but that didn’t stop the frankly shameful amount of daydreaming he’d indulged in anyway. And worse, he’d talked himself into stealing one of the ranunculuses, since his father hardly deserved a bouquet in the first place.

He’d kept the flower in a mug on his desk at work, the ugly one with the nugs on it that probably belonged to Cadash. Right next to the cactus he had bought -- _been given_ \-- on a whim. The distraction those two small plants caused was frankly embarrassing. If Josephine noticed she was better boss than to point it out, but Cadash didn’t have her wife’s restraint. Her comments had become more pointed as the week wore on and Dorian spent all his downtime between phone calls and paperwork imagining what would happen if he ordered flowers, whether Bull would deliver them himself, and if it was worth seeing him again for the endless teasing it would earn him.

The only real thought that stopped him was that flirting with someone while both of them were working was terribly gauche. There was also a spiteful little voice in the back of his mind, sounding not unlike his father, that insisted he was making too much of some empty flirting. That the Iron Bull had forgotten about him completely or else had laughed about the spectacle he’d made of himself. Dorian was no stranger to scandal, or to being the subject of vicious laughter, but the possibility hurt more than it probably should have.

Then Sera had come to him for help, and Dorian could admit that he was touched. Flowers couldn’t hurt -- he did know a very good florist after all. To his dismay though, Sera leapt at the suggestion and tried to drag him there immediately. She wouldn’t even be persuaded to wait until Dorian had finished his drink.

He was definitely not hiding behind his coffee cup when they walked into the florists; who named their establishment _Oopsy-Daisies_ and expected to be taken seriously as a business? One-eyed Qunari, apparently, who wore garish pink aprons with pins that said things like ‘what’s up, buttercup?’. Dorian lamented his taste, though he knew if he’d paid any mind to the name in the windows he wouldn’t have set foot in there.

A shame, if only because he would have missed Sera’s colourful commentary about all the flowers she was judging by some criteria she’d invented and had yet to let him in on. All Dorian could gather was that it involved a lot of shoving her face into unsuspecting flowers before stepping back and peering at them as if they contained the secrets to the Maker Himself. Although it didn’t seem to be getting her anywhere, as she’d been in the florists all of five minutes and had already passed by the carnations and the tulips and was now discovering that shoving her face into lilies was a recipe for disaster.

“They’re all pants and farts,” Sera declared, glaring balefully at the entire store while she scrubbed pollen off her face. “Where’s the guy, there’s gotta be a guy around here.”

“What guy?” Dorian asked, following behind her as she stomped further into the shop.

“You know, a guy!” As it happened, there was a man behind the counter who hadn’t looked up since they’d entered the store, the same one who’d been there when Dorian had come in demanding his own bouquet. Sera made a beeline for him. “Guy!” she yelled, flapping her hand under his nose to get his attention.

The man behind the counter didn’t look terribly impressed by the greeting, but that was nothing to the look he got when he spotted Dorian unsuccessfully hiding behind an overflowing display of hydrangeas. “Maker’s balls,” he muttered. Dorian waved his fingers, startling violently when Sera slapped her hand against the counter.

“Oi, you the guy who knows about fart-flowers?” she demanded. The man flicked a glance at Dorian, who didn’t at all like the smile curling the edge of his mouth.

“Actually,” he said, walking over and putting his hand on the door to the back room. “Let me get the guy who knows that. He’ll be out in just a sec.”

“Oh no, please--” Dorian started to say, but he pretended not to hear him as he disappeared into the back. Dorian was left with Sera, snapping her fingers and clicking her tongue impatiently, and the absolute certainty that he knew who was going to walk through that door next. He was sorely tempted to hide behind the hydrangeas again. “Sera,” he said a little desperately. “Wouldn’t you rather get Dagna something like what you got for her birthday? I’m sure we can find her a nice documentary on bees--”

“Nope. Flower’s romantic and all that shite.” Sera had a determined look on her face rather at odds with standing in a florists. She looked like she was planning to march into battle, not propose to her girlfriend. “So much romance she’ll have to marry me. That’s how it goes in all the stories, innit?”

Dorian sighed but couldn’t find it in himself to try and pry her from the florists now. He would see the Iron Bull again, get over whatever infatuation he had developed, and leave without embarrassing himself like last time. No spilling his sad life’s story to a stranger, no blushing, no inappropriate thoughts about any part of Bull’s anatomy.

The door opened and Dorian braced himself, only to be strangely disappointed when the man from before came back out. He barely had time to relax, and reprimand himself for the disappointment, when the Iron Bull was ducking through the doorway to spare his horns. He smiled at Sera but grinned at Dorian, and Dorian could feel himself start to blush already. How was he even bigger than he’d remembered? “Hey there,” Bull said, and his voice was deeper and rumblier too, like brontide, and Dorian felt a shiver roll down his spine. If he hadn’t been blushing before, he was now.

Bull turned away to face Sera, sparing Dorian having to find his tongue. “Hey, I’m The Iron Bull. Krem said you needed someone who knew flowers? I’m your man.”

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Don’t want a man. Widdle’s it, and now I gotta get her something big.”

“How big we talking?” Bull crossed his arms so that all his muscles flexed and Dorian had to look away quickly before he did something stupid like staring or, Maker forbid, _drooling_. There was nowhere to look that wasn’t Bull or Krem’s knowing grin, who was propping up the wall behind the counter and seemed to be doing nothing but enjoying the spectacle -- Dorian would have been mortified but he didn’t seem to be looking his way. Krem was smirking at Bull, of all things.

“Big, huge. Like _phwoar_ ,” Sera said, throwing her arms out for emphasis. “I wanna tell her I think she’s the absolute tits, yeah? That she makes my heart go ba-THUMP-thump and it’s the best-worst, and I never want it to stop so please be my wifey?”

“Hey, that is big! Congrats,” Bull said, clapping her on the shoulder. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised Dorian, after so long living in the South, but the genuine pleasure lighting up Bull’s face and the shit-eating grin on Sera’s as she chattered excitedly about her Widdle, it made him wish there was such easy acceptance to be found in Tevinter. It would’ve -- no, it wouldn’t have made it better, but easier, maybe.

“You got any thoughts about what she might like?” Bull asked, scratching at the stubble on his jawline, the sound loud in Dorian’s ears. This was so ridiculous, Bull hadn’t done anything more erotic than greeting him and already Dorian was hot under the collar, hyper-focussed on everything he did.

“Not a one, everything here is--” Sera waved at the store and pulled a face that was doing multiple things at once, twisting and scrunching and somehow conveying what she thought about the flowers she’d seen. “It ain’t working.”

Iron Bull snorted. “You might be overthinking it--”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Dorian interrupted loudly.

“--so keep it simple.” Sera scowled at Dorian and flipped him off, Krem rolled his eyes, but Bull smiled at him. “You want to her to know that she’s special to you? Tell her. Flowers aren’t a substitute for telling someone you love ‘em.”

Sera stuck out her chin. “I tell her plenty!”

“Then the flowers shouldn’t matter,” Bull said evenly.

Sera’s jaw wobbled for a moment before she let out a frustrated noise and seemed to deflate. “Don’t want to balls this up, innit?” she muttered. “Gotta be perfect for her. Widdle makes all the songs and the poetic shite make sense.”

Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe Dorian should have gone for his usual standby of getting uproariously drunk instead of suggesting something so trite as flowers. Maybe this was why he hadn’t been involved with anyone since leaving Tevinter.

Bull, however, had a gleam in his eye. “Well, if it’s poetry you wanted.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Let’s see if I can remember this right;

 _If you forget me, think_  
_of our gifts to Aphrodite_  
_and all the loveliness that we shared_

 _all the violet tiaras_  
_braided rosebuds, dill and_  
_crocus twined around your young neck._ ”

“Shit yeah!” Sera crowed. “Poetry! Get me those, all huge, and the biggest ribbon you got.”

“Sure thing,” Bull said with a huge grin of his own. He turned to Dorian and closed his eye very deliberately -- Dorian couldn’t speak, spluttering indignantly for longer than he cared to admit to. Iron Bull just went about making up Sera’s bouquet of violets like he hadn’t done anything, while Sera wandered away into the store and Krem followed after her, looking very pleased with himself for some reason. Dorian thought about beating a tactical retreat to the cacti display to spare himself any further embarrassment, but he couldn’t seem to make himself leave.

“Hey Dorian,” Bull said, looking up from the flowers at him. It was a strangely coy look for someone seven feet tall and covered in scars. “You’re being awful quiet today.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Dorian said sharply, and for some reason Bull smirked at him. “Did you just -- you recited poetry by Sappho, and then what? Tried to wink at me?”

“Uh, yeah?” Bull said, shrugging his huge shoulders. Dorian was not swooning; he was merely overcome by how utterly nonchalant Bull was in the face of his own overwhelming ridiculousness.

“Are you determined to be the most ludicrous man in all of Skyhold?”

“Aww, only Skyhold? You think there’s some Orlesian who can do better than me?” Dorian let out an outraged noise and poked him viciously in the chest. Maker, it was like poking a slab of concrete that only chuckled at his indignation like it was nothing. “Hey now, easy,” Iron Bull said, grabbing his hand before Dorian could find somewhere softer to jab at. It stopped him only because Dorian was distracted by how big his hands were, how fine and small his own hands looked clasped in his. It was a pretty contrast, and there may have been a return of some of the dirtier thoughts Dorian had entertained over the last week. He wasn’t blushing in the same way he wasn’t swooning, and Bull grinned at him like he knew what he’d been thinking.

“An Orlesian would have thought of a better name for their business,” Dorian said a little petulantly. He tugged on his hand and Bull let him go, giving him an easy grin that pulled an answering smile from him. “What kind of name is _Oopsy-Daisies_ for a florist?”

“Well,” Bull said, going back to Sera’s bouquet. “I would have named it after my favourite flower but I didn’t want to give the wrong impression. So I went with the next best thing.”

The creases at the corners of Bull’s remaining eye deepened as he spoke, like he was holding back a laugh -- it made Dorian suspicious. He squinted at Bull down the end of his nose, having to tilt his chin up to the ceiling to do it, which only made his crow’s feet more pronounced. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s your favourite flower?”

“Cowslips.”

It took Dorian a long moment to understand the pun and when he did, his mouth dropped open. “That is awful, Bull,” he said faintly. Bull lost the fight not to laugh, cracking up at the look on Dorian’s face that he could only hope was as dumbfounded as he felt and not at all charmed. “That is so beyond the pale. How is that possibly allowed? Surely there must be some arbiter of good taste who forbids that kind of thing.”

“Haven’t met him yet,” Bull said. He’d gotten closer to Dorian, or maybe Dorian had gotten closer to him; all he could see were scars across his cheek and over his lip, the smattering of freckles on his twice broken nose, and the toothy, charming smile he was aiming at Dorian. “Figure I must be doing something right.” Dorian didn’t know what to say to that, but luckily Bull leaned away before the silence became too awkward. “You name that cactus yet, the one you bought last time?”

“What?” Dorian said intelligently, caught off-guard by the change in subject. “Why? Should I have?”

Iron Bull shrugged, giving him one of those long looks again. “Up to you, but plants like it when you name ‘em and talk to ‘em.”

Dorian scoffed, fiddling with the end of his moustache nervously. “Did I adopt a plant or a puppy?”

“If it’s puppies you want, I know a guy,” Bull said, waggling his eyebrow until Dorian chuckled. He seemed very pleased with himself though Dorian couldn’t guess why, going back to fussing with Sera’s bouquet with a goofy smile that softened all the hard edges of face.

Dorian hadn’t watched last time since he knew nothing about flowers, but he could tell that Iron Bull was as good as he’d boasted. The bouquet was beautiful, he obviously had an eye for it as he arranged and rearranged the rosebuds and the crocuses around the violets, but Bull was also gentle. His hands were so large, and Dorian now noticed he was missing a couple of fingers, bruising the flowers should have been not only easy but inevitable. Except he was focussed so intently on the flowers, and moved with such care, that when Bull held up the finished bouquet the flowers were still whole without so much as a crease.

“It’s lovely--” Dorian coughed to cover for how breathy that sounded, like he was a heroine in a romance novel. “I’m sure Sera will love it, and Dagna too,” he said once he’d recovered.

Bull smirked, moving the bouquet into the crook of his arm. “You want anything before you go, big guy?”

Dorian startled, and he could feel himself blushing violently. “What?”

“I just meant--” Bull blew out a breath, smiling a little abashedly. “Your dad demanding more flowers yet?”

“Oh,” Dorian said faintly. Of course that’s what he meant. “No, my father is good for flowers. Though his stay in hospital has done nothing towards instilling a little humility in him, or an appreciation for the things I do.” Dorian folded his arms, leaning against the counter as he tried not to sound as bitter as he felt. “Maker knows, if you have anything for how he’s an egocentric windbag, I might be persuaded to buy more flowers.”

Bull placed Sera’s bouquet back on the counter and walked out into the store. “Actually, now that you mention it.”

“Bull! That was -- really, do you have a flower for everything?” Dorian called after him, throwing his hands up when the ridiculous man just laughed at him.

“Dunno, haven’t gotten around to everything yet. I’m just a very good florist.”

“You think you’re cute but you’re not,” Dorian told him when Iron Bull reappeared from around the hydrangeas, rolling his eyes hard enough to hurt when Bull affected a terrible hurt, clutching his heart.

“I’m fuckin’ adorable,” he growled playfully.

Dorian laughed even as another shiver went down his spine and made his fingers tingle. “I’ll defer to you then, as awful as your judgement is. What flowers have you brought me this time?” Bull showed him a bundle of yellow flowers, though Dorian was distracted for a moment by the way Bull’s ears had gone pink at the tips. When he remembered he was supposed to be looking at the flowers and not staring at the man, Dorian couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. “Daffodils?”

Bull chuckled. “Narcissus, actually. Here, I’ll show you daffodils, they’re a little different.” He made to leave again but seemed to trip over nothing when he saw Dorian’s face and whatever expression he had there. Dorian tried to smooth his face out into the sort of inoffensive mildness he’d mastered by his teens, finding plenty of use for it in Tevinter, but Bull was already reaching out to place a warm hand on his shoulder. “Hey, what’s with the face? You OK there?”

“Of course, Bull. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Bull frowned at him, putting the flowers down so he could turn his full attention to Dorian. It was a little unnerving to have all of Bull’s focus directed at him, bearing down on Dorian from his single silver eye, and breathtaking. “Because most people don’t look like that when they see flowers,” Bull said. “Promise I won’t think poorly of you, whatever it is.”

Dorian scoffed but Bull was determined, giving him that quiet but intense look until Dorian couldn’t take it any more and had to look away. “It’s nothing,” Dorian said even as he reached out and touched a narcissus flower. They were very pretty, except --

“I was simply thinking about the tragedy of Narcissus.” He kept looking at the flowers, not wanting to know what Bull was thinking just then. “Cursed to fall in love with his own reflection and committing suicide out of despair for what he cannot have. An ignominious namesake for such a pretty flower.”

Bull was quiet for so long Dorian started to seriously think about leaving without Sera and her flowers. All he’d needed to do was not be pathetic in front of Bull again, and he hadn’t even managed that. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and tried to make it look like an impatient gesture rather than Dorian folding in on himself to keep Bull’s judgement from hurting too much.

“You’re right,” Bull said suddenly, and Dorian was so surprised he looked up at him. Bull was looking back at him no less intensely but his eye had softened a little at the corner. “It’s a shitty choice. Wait here, I’ll fetch you something better.”

“Bull, really, that isn’t necessary,” Dorian tried to say but Bull barrelled past him like a man on a mission. Dorian let out a long sigh; it was starting to grate how little anybody listened to him in this shop, but he did as he was told and waited by the counter. Bull came back with a handful of bright red and pink peonies and a single shining sprig of white lilac, handing them to Dorian with an expression that might have been nervous coming from anyone else, but what did the Iron Bull have to be nervous about?

Dorian swallowed thickly, looking from the flowers in his hands to Bull’s face and watching the way his mouth seemed to go tighter the longer Dorian was quiet. “They’re beautiful,” Dorian said eventually. All the blood seemed to return to Bull’s face as he gave Dorian a smile that was definitely relieved, though Dorian couldn't have said why. He had no doubt the flowers were meaningful but he found himself strangely reluctant to ask. “I’m sure my father will appreciate them.”

“Of course,” Bull said strangely, walking past him to the counter. Dorian chewed on his lip, struggling to know what to say or how to read the look that had flitted across Bull’s face for half a moment before it was gone. He wanted to say something but the decision was taken from him when Sera catapulted into his side and cackled in his ear.

“Flowerpot!” she shrieked, laughing as she lifted her find of a painted pot covered in bees. “Oi, Dorian, me and Widdle are going out with Krem and his friends Saturday -- gonna go to that bar you like. Come with!” She spotted the finished bouquet and nearly dropped the flowerpot when she dove for it. She picked it up with gentle hands, reaching out to touch the flowers before going to finger the ribbon instead. “Yeah,” she said. “Perfect.”

Krem sidled up to Bull, elbowing him in the gut to get his attention.“She says Dagna has the steeliest pokerface. I wanna see her try and take on Grim and Skinner.”

Bull grunted, finally breaking eye-contact with Dorian to roll his eyes at Krem. “You just want Skinner to take someone else’s money for a change. C’mon Sera, let’s get your pot wrapped up so you can get out of here.”

Sera’s bee flowerpot was safely wrapped in layers of tissue paper while Sera cradled her bouquet to her chest and chattered to Krem -- apparently they had hit it off while she’d explored the florists. Dorian had no idea what they’d talked about, besides Dagna’s astonishing poker face, but she could now admit that not everything in the shop was comprised of farts. Bull listened to them with a half-smile and handed Sera her flowerpot, now safely in a bag, and she juggled holding her bouquet and the bag to get at her wallet.

“Here, Sera, allow me,” Dorian said, shifting his bouquet around until he had a hand free to reach for his wallet. The brush of his fingers against Bull’s hand as he gave him the money set them tingling again, and he had to resist the urge to rub them against his jeans to keep the heat there. “Thank you, Bull, for your exemplary work once again.”

“A pleasure, Dorian,” Bull said, smiling so warmly the creases at his eye appeared again. Dorian began to smile back but Krem clapped a heavy hand to his shoulder.

“Don’t be a stranger -- we always appreciate anybody who brings us business.”

Dorian scoffed, rolling his shoulder to knock his hand off. “Naturally. I’ll see if I can join you Saturday too.”

“You work too hard,” Sera said as she headed for the door.

“Someone has to.” He turned to follow her but paused for a moment and looked back at Bull. “Will I see you as well? On Saturday?” Dorian asked, feeling that nervous urge to fuss with his moustache again. Bull looked surprised for a moment before breaking into a delighted grin.

“Sure. Looking forward to it.”

Dorian nodded, sure he was blushing again, and left before he could do anything to embarrass himself further. Later, Dorian let himself be more than a little smug at how well his suggestion had gone over, though when he looked at his own bouquet the feeling was tempered into something a little gentler, warm pleasure sitting in his gut and diffusing outwards. He felt rather like he was all shiny from the inside out, and Sera would have laughed herself stupid if she knew Dorian had thought that, precisely why he didn’t tell her.

Sera still ended up getting the last laugh. Dagna loved the flowers, or at least Dorian assumed she did. She looked happy in all the pictures Dorian saw online that evening, smiling and bright red as Sera kissed her cheek. There were also quite a few of her sobbing into Sera’s shoulder but he didn’t hold that against her. Dorian texted Sera to congratulate her; her reply was a string of largely incomprehensible but undoubtedly filthy emojis, so he figured she was probably pretty happy too.

Dorian’s bouquet was left on his kitchen counter as he tried to decide whether to give it to his father or jealously hoard it for himself. He compromised, taking the sprig of lilac for himself and allowing his father the peonies. As he went to remove it from the bouquet though, already wondering if he had a clean glass anywhere in his apartment he could spare, he pulled out a card hidden in the flowers. Dorian stared at it dumbly for a moment before it registered that it was a business card with a cartoon daisy on it. It was surprisingly tasteful for a florists called _Oopsy-Daisies_ , Dorian thought with a snort. He picked it up, idly reading over the information before turning it over.

On the back, scrawled in tiny, cramped handwriting was a phone number and a message; ‘ _let me take you to dinner some time. -IB_ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The flowerpot banter.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jTWgFV7_1l8) I thought it was funny.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve given up on pretending this isn’t a chaptered fic. Please note the updated tags and chapter estimate, and I went back and corrected some mistakes while I was at it. Thank you everyone for your lovely positive responses, they really do make it all worthwhile. :3

Krem snapped after the twelfth time Iron Bull thought he heard his phone buzz in five minutes.

“Chief,” he said, levelling his trowel at him threateningly. “He’s either going to call or he’s not. Staring at your phone isn’t going to change that.”

“I know that, Krempuff,” Bull said gruffly, putting his phone back in his pocket and turning away to grab a ficus that was destined for the shop front. When he turned back around, Krem had crossed his arms and was giving him a baleful glare. “What? I haven’t been that bad.”

“Yeah, you have,” Skinner said as she walked past with an tray of succulents. The snickering behind him sounded a lot like Stitches.

Iron Bull grunted but didn’t dignify them with a response, possibly because he really had been that bad and he knew. Diving for his phone every time so much as a tingle came from his pocket wasn’t how he usually did things. Nor was leaving his number in a bouquet hoping they’d find it, but Dorian wasn’t his usual type. Bull really hoped he’d call, and the thought had barely crossed his mind before he felt the phantom buzzing that had been driving everyone nuts all day. Iron Bull reached for his phone again, and Krem’s growl of frustration was the only warning he got before he snatched his phone and bolted.

Krem was a slippery little fucker and was not afraid to play dirty when he knew it was his ass when Bull caught him. Bull chased him around the back and out into the shop where Krem tried to dive over the counter to get some space. Iron Bull caught him by the seat of his pants and pulled him back over the counter, Krem squirming the entire time and clipping the register with his foot. They landed in a heap of swinging elbows and grabbing hands, but Bull had him now and knew better then to get within reach of Krem’s teeth.

“Say it, Cremisius,” Bull said on a single exhale, and Krem collapsed into dead weight.

“Fine, you win, you great lummox,” he wheezed, holding up Bull’s phone. Bull snatched it back, rolling out from the pile of limbs and leaving Krem collapsed on the ground. “I hate you, and your Vint boyfriend. You deserve each other.”

“Aw, thanks, Kreme brûlée,” Iron Bull said, leaning up against the counter. He reached out to straighten the register as he unlocked his phone, his heart giving a particularly hard thump as he glanced down. There was no text, no missed call, and Bull deflated more than he cared to admit. Krem staggered to stand beside him and took one look at his face before clapping him on the shoulder in silent commiseration.

“Here,” Bull said, holding his phone out to him. Krem looked down at it then back up at him, eyebrows drawn in and his mouth pulling down at the corners. “Take it or I’m not getting anything done today. You’re right, staring won’t make him call.”

“OK, Chief,” Krem said quietly. The phone barely brushed his fingers before it began to ring, and Krem all but threw it back to Bull.

The call was coming from an unknown number, and it was a moment before Bull could answer it. “Hello?” he said, still a little out of breath and the anticipation making him breathy. There was silence for several long beats and Bull looked down at his phone with a frown to check that the call hadn’t dropped. Krem attempted to ask using only his eyebrows who it was and Iron Bull shooed him away, pushing him towards the backroom. He tried making it clear with hand gestures that this was a private phonecall and Krem needed to fuck off, but Cremisius was choosing to be obtuse today.

There was a sharp noise from the other end of the phone. “ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” a Vint voice said before the call ended. Bull wasn’t sure if he felt more confused or disappointed.

“Did they hang up?” Krem asked. “Maybe it wasn’t your Vint. Coulda been a wrong number, Chief.”

“Yeah,” Iron Bull said. “That’s probably what it was.”

His phone began to ring again. Bull snorted, and Krem muttered something under his breath, but he answered it. “Hello?” Bull said a little more cautiously this time.

“The Iron Bull, hello,” Dorian said, and it definitely was Dorian this time. Bull finished shoving Krem through the door, not caring at all that his smile was wide and a little goofy.

“Dorian! Hey, big guy, I’m glad you called,” Bull said, settling against the counter. “What can I do for you?”

“I--” Dorian took a deep breath. “I was rather hoping that you, that I could take you up on your offer. Of dinner. I would like to go to dinner, specifically with you.” Bull couldn’t help it, he laughed at how flustered the Vint was, easily imagining the cute little blush he had going on right then. “Let me try that again, I can be marginally more articulate.”

“Not a chance,” Bull said. “I’d love to go to dinner, specifically with you.”

“Good, that’s -- good.” Dorian sounded like he was smiling too and that only made Bull’s grin even goofier. “Have you heard of the Rivaini place downtown? I hear it’s quite good.”

“ _The Pirate Queen_?” Iron Bull asked, and Dorian hummed. “Shit yeah, that place is awesome. I know the woman who runs the place, her and her partner. Isabela and Hawke are good people, and the food’s not bad either, if you don’t mind enough spice to burn off all your tastebuds.”

“Oh, yes _please_ ,” Dorian said enthusiastically enough to make Bull laugh. “That’s endorsement enough. Ferelden food is so bland it’s a crime.”

“Like it hot, do you?” Bull said, his smile going sharp.

“I can handle hot,” Dorian purred down the phone. Bull wondered if he was biting his lip, or if his eyes had gone hooded and sexy. Maybe he was lucky and Dorian was doing both. “But can you keep up with me?”

“I know I can,” Bull rumbled in the way he knew Dorian liked, if his breathless little laugh was anything to go by. “I like a little fire. Makes the pleasure that much sweeter.”

“Mm, sounds promising,” Dorian said, sounded delighted. “Is seven on Sunday a time that works for you?”

“Yeah, I can make that work. Rocky owes me some overtime.”

“Excellent.” Dorian paused, and it was a kind of thoughtful quiet. Bull sat back and waited it out. “I just wanted to thank you, for listening to my recent troubles with my father. It was... kind of you. I’m looking forward to dinner. And seeing you on Saturday, at the bar.”

“Me too, Dorian,” Iron Bull said. “I’ll see you then.”

Bull grinned through the rest of his shift and his boys’ ribbing. They were happy for him, even Krem, although if he rolled his eyes any more or any harder his eyes were going to fall out of his head. That didn’t mean they weren’t going to tease Bull mercilessly for texting Dorian to the point of hopeless distraction.

Dorian had a real way with words, fiery and funny, and Bull spent a lot of that week laughing at Dorian complaining fondly about his job. Mostly he lamented that his boss Cadash couldn’t seem to mind her own business and had to know everything about everyone, which her eerily perceptive assistant Cole was only to happy to help with. Bull was quietly glad that Dorian had people looking out for him, even if it was vaguely concerning that Josephine apparently had the power to get Dorian deported. ‘She wouldn’t,’ Dorian texted with confidence, ‘she’s never had anyone half so talented in her office. But if it served a greater purpose, I have no doubts.’

She reminded Bull a little of Ma’am that way; Iron Bull shared his own stories of working the high society functions and galas Vivienne hired them to provide the flowers for. Dorian was impressed he knew Madame de Fer but was far more amazed when Bull said he'd apparently met her exacting standards. Bull definitely preened a little but made sure his text back was a touch more modest; ‘i did say i was very good ],)’.

They texted whenever they could grab a moment between work and Dorian’s family obligations, and it was possible Bull was looking forward to this date a lot more than he usually did. Sunday couldn’t come fast enough.

Dorian sent him a text late on Friday, when Bull had already hung up his pink apron and gone home for the day. ‘Can’t make it to the bar. Send my apologies to the others.’

Bull scratched at his chest, feeling suddenly very unsure. It was curt, all business -- Bull felt wrong-footed.

‘sure, no probs,’ Bull texted back then hesitated. It felt weird to worry about their date. “Dammit,” he muttered at his phone. ‘we still on for sunday?’ he wrote.

Bull stared at his phone while Dorian typed his response, seemingly taking an age, and didn’t breathe the entire time. ‘No, I think not,’ Dorian texted back.

“Well, that’s that then,” Bull said, his heart sinking in his chest and ending up somewhere around his shoes. He thought for a moment of texting back but somehow doubted it would be wanted. He knew a brush off when he read one, so despite temptation, he put his phone down.

Iron Bull went to the bar with his boys and Sera on Saturday as planned, rather than stay at home all dressed up and with nowhere to go. He tried to ask Sera what had happened, though judging by the way her nose wrinkled he wasn’t very casual about it. She didn’t know, nor did Dagna, who got along with Bull’s boys just as well as predicted and the whole lot of them settled quite happily into drinking themselves blind.

Bull tried to join in and not let it show how much the Vint-shaped hole in the evening was getting him down, but his boys knew him too well, and they knew that any other night Bull would have taken up one of the interested looks being sent his way. There was definitely some secret communicating going on behind his back that Iron Bull was generously ignoring, until Dalish, already sloppy after one drink, pat him on the shoulder. “S’alright, Chief,” she said, leaning heavily on him. “You’ll find someone.”

“Thanks, Dalish.” Apparently satisfied with her comforting, Dalish went to sleep against his shoulder. Bull put his arm around her so she didn’t slide to the floor and went back to the beer he’d been nursing all night. He caught Krem’s eye from across the table, or rather he noticed the glare Krem was sending his way. “What?”

“She’s right, you know,” Krem said, leaning forward with his elbow on the table and only slipping on the spilled beer a little. “If he can’t even be bothered to break it off in person, he’s not worth it.”

“Does everyone have an opinion on my love life?” Bull scoffed.

“Since you insist on moping where we can see you, yes,” Krem said, his much softened glare looking almost sympathetic. “Dunno why you’re hung up on this Vint.”

Bull shrugged, half-wishing he knew as well. “I just,” he started, feeling a little ridiculous. “I’d just really like him to call. Or text. I’m not picky.”

“He wasn’t that pretty,” Krem said but he didn’t sound very convinced.

“Yeah, he really was,” Bull said and downed his drink.

***

Hospital deliveries were always pretty simple. Iron Bull would trade in his pink apron and pins for a more sombre black shirt and jeans without patches on the knees. Go to the reception, tell them the room number, get directions.

The hardest part was swallowing down the sick feeling from the smell alone, guaranteed to cling to his clothes for hours afterwards until the nausea sat heavy in his gut. Coughs that echoed down corridors made him jump, his sneakers on the tiles were thunderous, and his bum knee always started to ache.

Bull was big enough to admit he fuckin’ hated hospitals. His boys could’ve done the deliveries by themselves but that’s not why he’d opened _Oopsy-Daisies_ ; Bull was more of a lead-from-the-front kind of guy. So, short of getting comfortable with just sitting on his arse and giving orders, Bull figured he’d deal with it by keeping his head down and his feet moving, even if it meant that Dalish had to trot to keep up with him.

Iron Bull didn’t know why he looked up when he did -- the corridor was empty and the hallway to his right was completely silent -- but he glanced up to see a familiar looking Vint leaning against the wall. Dorian was looking a little worse for wear; his hair was curling without his usual meticulous styling and his moustache was drooping sadly. The rings on his fingers and ears were gone and his shirt was rumpled, with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He was oblivious to being watched, and it was a strangely vulnerable moment Bull seemed to have caught him in, staring down at his phone and nibbling on his lips.

“Chief?” Dalish called to him from further down the corridor when she noticed he wasn’t following her.

Bull beckoned her over and passed his flowers to her. “Make sure these get to the right room.”

“Why, is--” Dalish glanced around him and her eyes went wide before she grinned toothily. “That’s your Vint, isn’t it. I’ll get the flowers to where they’re going, you make sure your boy’s OK. Krem was wrong, you know; he is _very_ pretty.”

Dalish skipped away and Iron Bull was left alone, looking at Dorian. He hadn’t looked up from his phone during their brief conversation, and in fact was looking at it with a dejected expression that was painful in its hope. Bull’s sneakers seemed extra loud on the tiled floor, and he was standing beside Dorian before he could think of something clever to say, so he settled on, “hey, Dorian.”

Dorian’s head jerked up hard enough to give him whiplash and he blinked at Bull. “Bull? What are you doing here?” Bull shrugged, pointing at the logo embroidered on his shirt. Dorian rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yes, of course, you’re working. Obviously. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Bull said, watching the tired way Dorian scrubbed at his eyes. “You OK there, big guy? That was a pretty heavy look you were giving your phone. Anything I can do to help?”

“Because you enjoy hearing all about me and my failed relationships.” Perhaps he might have sounded more biting if he wasn't obviously at the end of his rope.

Bull hesitated a moment before placing a gentle hand on Dorian’s shoulder. He startled but didn’t pull away, looking up at Bull with big eyes and a fragile expression. “I’d like to help, if you want me to. No pressure,” Bull said with a small smile.

Dorian started to go red and he hurried to look down at his phone again. “Well,” he said, sounding flustered, “as it so happens, my troubles are solely my own fault this time. I--” he took a deep breath and looked at Iron Bull again. “It was brought to my attention, by Sera no less, that my last text could be seen as... abrupt. You never responded and I didn’t know how to say sorry, to ask if we could--”

“Shit, sorry,” Bull said quickly. “I didn’t think you wanted me to text.”

Dorian bit his lip, looking up at Bull through his lashes. “I really was looking forward to dinner.”

“So was I,” Bull said, and smiled to see Dorian give him his own tentative little smile. “You got a couple of minutes? We could go to the cafeteria and get some coffee. I know hospital food isn’t great--”

“Yes,” Dorian blurted out. Bull laughed, feeling lighter already. “I meant -- actually, fuck it. Yes, absolutely, Iron Bull, I’d love to get shitty hospital coffee with you.”

If Bull hadn’t been smitten before, he was now. His hand didn’t leave Dorian’s shoulder as he led him to the cafeteria, but it did slowly make its way over to rest between his shoulder blades, the pad of his thumb brushing the hot skin at the back of Dorian’s neck. Bull watched his reactions in case it was too much, but Dorian’s smirk was definitely pleased so he kept his hand where it was. Brushing fingertips and sneaking glances was as far from his usual as hiding phone numbers in bouquets, but in that moment, it made Bull all warm and fuzzy inside.

Bull had to remove his hand to get their coffee, but there was something satisfying about turning back to Dorian, coffees in hand, to see him watching Iron Bull with something quietly pleased about the curl of his mouth. He put Dorian’s coffee down in front of him and sat down across the small table, cupping his coffee between his large palms.

“I am sorry I cancelled so suddenly, by the way,” Dorian said, taking a sip before pulling a face. “Maker, that is repulsive.”

“Best I could do on short notice. I’ll make it up to you,” Bull said and braved his own coffee. “Fuck, that is awful coffee. Sorry.”

Dorian’s moustache twitched with what sounded suspiciously like a suppressed giggle, which turned into a very definite laugh as he watched Bull try to improve his coffee by dumping a handful of sugar packets into it. “Perhaps it’s not so lucky that we ran into each other when we did,” he said, “since we’ve done nothing but apologise to each other so far.”

“Sorry.” Bull couldn’t quite keep a straight face, especially when Dorian smacked him in the arm. “You started it -- you don’t have to apologise for cancelling.”

“You deserve to know why at least,” Dorian said, his smile disappearing suddenly as his mouth twisted down unhappily. Bull missed it immediately. “My father’s condition deteriorated rapidly last week.”

“Shit, is he OK?” Bull reached out and took Dorian’s hand.

He gave Bull a smile like glass and squeezed back. “He survived, thankfully, though he needs surgery. I didn’t think, all things considered, that now was the best time. I don’t know how I manage to do anything of late.” Dorian blew out a breath that lifted the bangs from his forehead. “No doubt Father will be pleased when he learns he interrupted my dinner plans, he’s already well enough again to be making demands of me. It’s been...”

“You look tired.”

“I am,” Dorian said simply. Iron Bull brushed his thumb over his knuckles, earning another smile. “There’s something uniquely unrestful about hospitals.”

“It’s all the waiting,” Bull said with a shrug. “Standing around waiting for news. Nobody’s in here thinking it’s going to be good, it’s just a matter of how bad it is.” Dorian frowned at him, and Bull shrugged again, feeling awkward as he let his eye slide away to look around the mostly-empty cafeteria. He pulled his hand from Dorian’s to rub at the back of his neck. “I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals, had lots of time to think.”

“Yes, I expect so,” Dorian said. Bull could feel him looking at his eyepatch and the bared scars of his forearms but when he looked back, Dorian was studying the table.

“Not in the way you’re thinking. I wrecked my knee pretty badly almost ten years ago, spent a month in hospital and I have to wear a brace now.” Dorian nodded, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line, and Bull sighed. At some point over the days they’d been texting each other, Dorian’s careful avoidance of anything that might lead Bull to talk about his past had become harder to endure than actually talking about it. “It’s alright if you want to ask, you know. You wouldn’t be the first to wonder how a Tal-Vashoth ended up where I did. Not even for the day.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to -- share, or tell me anything, that’s not why I--”

“Easy, Dorian,” Bull said, recapturing his hand before he could gesture hard enough to smack into something. “I wanna tell you, if that’s alright with you.” Dorian nodded, so Bull took a deep breath. “Right. Fuck, where do I even begin?”

“Begin at the beginning,” Dorian said with a tentative smirk, “and go on until you come to the end, then stop.”

“Now who’s being cute?” Iron Bull huffed, squeezing Dorian’s hand. “The start I guess would be on Seheron. Did well there. Survived ten years, which is better than most. It’s where I got most of these.” He shrugged his shoulders to draw Dorian’s eyes back to the scars on his arms. “But there’s only so many kids you can see burned alive before you start to wonder what it’s all for.”

“ _Venhedis_ ,” Dorian cursed lowly. “I didn’t know -- and you still agreed to dinner with a Vint?”

“I don’t hate all Vints -- Krem’s the best man I know.” Bull reached up to touch his eyepatch. “But that’s not my story to tell. When I busted my leg, I got sent South and found out that a lot of people don’t know what’s going on that far North. Most people are happier not knowing. The Qun seemed further away than ever here -- you start to question that shit when you’re in a pointless, shitty war, but seeing it? It’s not perfect outside the Qun but nobody’s getting beaten in the street or sent to the re-educators, so as far as I can see, it could be a fuck of a lot worse.”

“Is that why you became Tal-Vashoth?” Dorian asked, his eyes wide and his eyebrows drawn low.

“No. I’d been in Skyhold maybe five years; I had my business, I had my boys, it was...” Iron Bull looked away for a moment but this was too important a moment to stare at the walls. Dorian was riveted, his lips parted a little as he listened to Bull, and however hard Bull looked, there wasn’t any pity in his eyes. “Even though I was still technically under the Qun, it was like I had reinvented myself. It was all for me. But then the Qun decided they wanted it, wanted me to give it up and come back into the fold. Wanted _everything_.”

Bull turned over Dorian’s hands to look down at his palms. “When the Qun comes knocking like that, something I’d grown up thinking was essential, it’s hard to refuse them anything.”

“I can’t imagine,” Dorian said softly, “the strength needed to break with the Qun. Leaving Tevinter was hard enough. I knew what I was leaving for -- to find something that I would never be able to have in Tevinter. And then my father followed me South.” He suddenly flushed very red. “Not that I’m comparing our experiences, not at all. I don’t claim to have gone through anything like an active warzone, I didn’t mean--”

“You’re fine, Dorian,” Iron Bull said. “It’s nice talking to another Northern expat, don’t meet too many of them who want to talk to an old Tal-Vashoth ex-soldier. Krem hardly counts, he’s been living in the South as long as I have. But I don’t know about hard -- there was really only one choice I could have made.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Dorian said, frowning at him and squeezing Bull’s hand to emphasise just how serious he was being. It was very cute. Bull grinned at him, earning a pinch on the wrist. “I won’t have you downplaying it. That was a brave thing you did, Iron Bull, for your men and yourself.”

“High praise, Messere Pavus,” Bull quipped, and he had to catch Dorian’s hands to keep him from poking and pinching in retaliation. Without thinking, Bull raised his hands but froze before he could kiss his fingertips like he wanted to, and was suddenly and intensely embarrassed at himself for acting -- he didn’t know how he was acting, all lovelorn, but Dorian seemed to bring it out in him. Luckily, Dorian’s only reaction to his weirdness was to blush ferociously.

“So that’s the end, and I’ll do us both a favour and stop,” Bull said, lowering their hands, which was when he saw the clock on the cafeteria wall. “ _Vashedan_ , is that really the time?”

Dorian twisted around to look at the clock as well, pulling his hands from Bull’s in the process. “The time does seem to have gotten away from us.” He turned back around and gave Bull another adorable moue of frustration. “I should get back to my father before he notes my absence. It was nice to have something to take my mind off of recent events, even if I did somehow convince you to talk about your history with Seheron and the Qun.”

“I wanted to, remember? You didn’t convince me to do anything.” They both stood from the table, leaving their mostly untouched coffees, though they both seemed strangely reluctant to leave. “Good luck with your father. You won’t be a stranger at the shop?” Bull said, his uncertainty turning it into a question.

Dorian snorted. “I’m afraid my father is well provided with flowers. He had visitors the other day, though I can’t guess who would come this far South, and they brought him some awful tacky bouquet. It had _lavender_ in it. I don’t suppose you know what lavender is supposed to symbolise?”

There was a myth that the shade under lavender bushes was inviting to venomous snakes. However true it was, lavender had come to mean ‘mistrust’, not for the flower but for the company it attracted. Bull wasn’t superstitious, the Qun was too practical for that, but Dorian’s father gave him a bad feeling regardless. “Not off the top of my head,” Iron Bull said through gritted teeth.

“Oh well,” Dorian said with feigned disappointment. “Oh, and I meant to tell you. I decided to name the cactus Berenice, after the wife of Archon Cecilianus who was personally responsible for stabbing her husband in the back a dozen times during a failed coup.”

He looked so pleased with himself, his eyes shining brightly, that Bull laughed in delight, clapping him on the shoulder and taking care to be more gentle than usual when Dorian already looked like a particularly stiff breeze could take him out. “Nice.”

“It’s high time my history degree be of some use to me,” Dorian said, twisting his moustache and looking very smug. “I -- well, I’ll see you later, perhaps.”

“Yeah, of course,” Bull said, and watched as Dorian left the cafeteria before remembering that he too had someplace he ought to be.

Dalish had no doubt informed everyone of their run-in with Dorian, so Bull knew to brace himself when he got back to his shop. Krem was at the front of the pack, giving him a look that somehow managed to tread the line between long-suffering irritation and concern. Bull didn’t know what he had to be concerned about, he was hardly an _imekari_ dealing with his first rejection.

“Did you get the new displays set up?” Bull asked, and his feeble attempt to distract his boys was met with a half-dozen unimpressed looks and scoffing noises. “Whatever you think happened, it’s not worth hanging around waiting for details. There aren’t any details.”

“So he apologised?” Krem said sharply. “You made up? Going on a date soon-ish? Prepared to text him every minute and giggle like a lovesick idiot?”

Bull scowled as he shoved his way through the gaggle of his employees and made his way to the back room, stopping with his hand on the door. It wasn’t his place to share Dorian’s life with other people, but he knew his boys as well as they knew him, and they could be very, very persistent. “He’s got his hands full dealing with his dad,” Bull said over his shoulder. “Doesn’t have time for anything else, and if he did I wouldn’t be a priority. He barely knows me, so _drop it_.”

Krem’s face did something complicated as his concern won out and he clearly tried to hide it. “Alright, Chief, we’ll drop it. But only coz you asked.”

“Good. Now stop fucking around and go back to work like I pay you to.”

“We’re only following you’re example, Chief,” Krem yelled after him as Iron Bull disappeared into the back room, pretending to himself it was because he was working and not because he didn’t want to hear or see his boys feeling sorry for him. He was fine. He’d get over it.

 ***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned the lovely sarahwhat on tumblr for some art for this fic and it's even better than I could have imagined!! Go give her a follow for more cute Adoribull fanart!!


	4. Chapter 4

Krem had no intention of dropping the matter of the Chief’s disastrous dating life. If Iron Bull didn’t want his boys involved in all of his affairs, he shouldn’t have hired them and then expected a paycheck to be enough to keep them out of trouble. Asking out the Vint that had waltzed into his shop demanding ‘fuck you’ flowers was practically encouraging them, and Krem could hardly be blamed for making it his business to find out what the fuck had gone wrong.

Krem’s phone was out before the door had even swung closed behind Iron Bull, texting Sera and Dagna to let them know shit had happened between their Vint and his big horned idiot. The others were discussing their options, which ranged from petty but harmless to likely to get them another business call from Inspectors Rutherford and Pentaghast.

“We’re not leaving flaming bags of shit on his doorstep,” Krem said, cutting off that line of thought before it could go any further, making Rocky sigh forlornly. Cullen and Cassandra hadn’t visited in a couple of months, and the Vint really wasn’t worth facing Bull’s disappointment over. “We’re gonna solve this like adults by having his friends spy on him. You don’t just decide it isn’t working after texting each other every minute of your waking day. I call bullshit, so we’re gonna figure out what happened and then fix it.”

“Even if you’re right, let’s find out where he lives, just in case,” Dalish said. Grim grunted his assent, and Krem scowled at him.

“Don’t get caught,” he said, gesturing with his phone.

Skinner scoffed. “What are we, amateurs?”

“It’s like you don’t even know us,” Stitches said, mock-indignant.

“And nothing worse than junk mail,” Krem gritted out.

There was a chorus of groans. “How much junk mail do you think is too much?” Dalish asked with her dangerously mild curiosity. Krem rolled his eyes and went back to his own plans, which would hopefully be more helpful and marginally less illegal.

Despite his protests, Krem was still half-holding out hope that the Chief’s Vint really had ditched him, because that was easily remedied with alcohol and bad decisions. He had no such luck though. Sera reported back to him that Dorian was going around ‘witha face lika slapped arse’, which also perfectly described Iron Bull whenever he thought his boys weren’t looking. Sera was already halfway to sending a jar full of bees to Bull for slighting Dorian, after deciding against her first plan to ‘stickim fulla arrows FWIP SPLAT rightn the bits’.

‘tryin to figure out what happened. will let you know if bees become necessary.’

‘bignhorny gonna be bignthorny bzz’

Dagna told Krem much the same; Dorian was unhappy and trying to cover it by checking his phone a lot, which was not the actions of a man who didn’t have the time for Bull. Dorian was apparently distracted enough to cause an unwanted but thankfully very minor explosion while helping Dagna with one of her experiments. Krem tried to ask what they were doing that things could explode without meaning to, but the text he got back didn’t even look like Trade and when he showed it to Rocky his moustache got all twitchy and excited. It was a little concerning, actually.

Something had gotten fucked up if both of them thought they’d been ditched by the other. The Iron Bull was a stubborn, hard-headed idiot, which no doubt had something to do with it, but Krem would also rather walk all the way back to Tevinter from Skyhold than try to have that conversation with him. Neither Sera or Dagna wanted to talk to Dorian either, who was by all accounts as big an idiot as Bull was, and Krem had a hard time convincing Sera that mailing her bees was not the better option. He already had to convince himself it would be weird to get Dorian’s address from Dalish and show up unannounced to beg him to save them from their boss’ sulking. It wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever done but not by a whole lot.

The others had no such compunctions, and even Krem didn’t try very hard to resist the urge to look at Dalish’s findings on the internet. Krem could almost forgive Dorian for being an altus, but only almost. The flaming bag of shit on his doorstep suddenly had a lot of merit to it.

Thankfully he didn’t have to figure out the logistics surrounding flaming bags of shit. Dorian walked into the shop a week after he and Bull had had their misunderstanding at the hospital, looking very uncertain and very much like he wanted to turn around and walk back out again. Krem was the only one in the front and he didn’t say anything, not until Dorian had walked up to the counter first and had opened his mouth to speak.

“Afternoon, altus,” Krem said, and watched the way Dorian’s face immediately went shuttered and he closed his mouth with a click.

“You know who I am,” Dorian said, and Krem nodded like it was a question. There would be no room for misunderstandings in this conversation. “My reputation precedes me, I see.”

“Yours and your da’s,” Krem said. Dorian’s eyes went tight at the corners and his arms came around him, gripping at his own elbows. “Didn’t know it was you until I heard your name and I thought it sounded familiar, internet filled the rest in. Your da the one in hospital?”

“Yes,” Dorian said, the word clipped. “Such happens when you leave Tevinter and put yourself in the care of inferior Southern doctors.”

“Not many Magisters would have given up their seat for Skyhold.”

“Not many of them have runaway sons,” Dorian gritted out. “Is there a reason for this? I usually know how I’ve wronged someone before we get to the confrontations and cold dislike.”

“I’m not confronting you about anything,” Krem said. Dorian scoffed. “I’m just getting the bullshit out of the way. I don’t give a shit about Tevinter or alti, and I figure you don’t either if you’re slumming it in the South. I’ve got no bone to pick with you -- I’m only here because of Bull.”

“Ah,” Dorian said in a tone of sudden comprehension, and smirked. “May I ask in what capacity you’re here then? As just a concerned employee, or as whatever relationship you all have with Bull that has him calling you ‘his boys’ and acting like a proud father whenever he speaks of you?”

“The latter,” Krem huffed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “He’s not _that_ bad.”

“Yes he is.” Dorian leaned an elbow on the counter. “Anybody with two brain cells to rub together can see that he treats you as his strange gaggle of children, and fortunately I have far more than two. There’s nothing he loves to do more than boast about the lot of you, and I dare say I know just as much about you as you know about me, even with the internet.”

“So maybe he is that bad,” Krem said, tipping his head forwards. This felt off-script, but it was a little difficult to flex his muscles and intimidate a man whose face lit up like that when he talked about the Chief. Krem was very reluctantly charmed, which he should have expected from someone who grew up in Tevinter’s upper echelons but somehow hadn’t seen coming when Dorian's first impression had been offering a large amount of money for flowers to spite his family with. “He’s good to us. I owe him a lot, more than I think I can ever pay back.” Krem shrugged a little awkwardly.

“He told me about the Qun,” Dorian said quietly. “What they wanted, what they asked of him.”

“He doesn’t talk about the Qun with new people,” Krem said, giving Dorian a shrewd look.

Dorian could only shrug helplessly. “I don’t know what possessed him, but he seemed to want to for whatever reason. That wasn’t the only thing either; he mentioned-- insinuated, really,” Dorian started then stopped with a heavy sigh. “Will you tell me what happened to Iron Bull’s eye?” Krem must have startled, he was definitely surprised. “He said it wasn’t his story to tell.”

“Of course he would, the great idiot.” Krem looked away, his mouth twisting as his emotions did something complicated that looked a lot like frustration at Bull and also nothing like it. “The abridged version then. I was on the Tevinter border, after being dishonourably discharged, when some guys took deep offence to the fact that I’m trans. Started getting up in my face about it, saying nasty shit, you know. The Chief was watching the whole time, and when one of the guys pulled a knife, he stepped in. Took a bottle to the face that was meant for me.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian swore with feeling. “That is -- _venhedis_ , that self-sacrificing streak is going to get him killed one day. Is he like this with everyone he knows?”

Krem scrubbed a hand through his hair and chuckled. “That’s the thing, he didn’t even know me. I stuck around afterwards -- I think I wanted to thank him, or call him an idiot -- and I just never left. We’ve been in it together since. Never had anyone stick up for me like that before, not even my own Maker-damned family did as much for me as the Chief did. So I guess he is my family. Not my pa though.”

“I don’t think he’d protest over much to being called your mother.” Dorian was grinning pretty smugly, and it should have grated like the looks Krem had gotten from alti far less worth his time, but Krem only rolled his eyes. Dorian was also right, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Look, we’re getting away from the point.”

“There was a point to this?”

“ _Yes,_ for fuck’s sake,” Krem said through gritted teeth. “His self-sacrficing thing is why we’re having this talk, you an’ me. We look out for him, like he does for us, and we worry when he’s--” Krem gestured broadly “--less than great. I’ll be fucked before I talk to him about it though. The Chief works harder than the Maker.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve been called reasonable,” Dorian mused, eyes turned ceiling-ward as though he were giving it serious thought. “Easy to talk to, even preferable. I should tell Father, he will be pleased.”

“Yeah, well, don’t feel too good about it, altus, the Chief sets a high bar. I don’t think even Andraste’s perky tits could get him to take a holiday. The last time we forced him to take a day off, he had walking pneumonia and Skinner had a knife to his kidneys.” Krem caught Dorian’s eye and held it. “The Chief likes to pretend that since he left the Qun, his life’s been great -- fuckin’ ideal, even -- but it’s not. Nobody’s is, but the Chief can’t admit it because he did something so huge to get it. Saying it ain’t sunshine and puppies all the time would be tantamount to admitting he shouldn’t have left the Qun.”

“That’s absurd,” Dorian said, scowling.

“You’re telling me. But that’s what the Qun does to people, it gives them this black and white thinking that doesn’t allow for grey, which is most of real life. In his head, it’s Qun or nothing -- and that ain’t healthy. Has the Chief ever asked you for something?”

“Uh,” Dorian stuttered, thrown off guard for a moment and blinking. “He asked me to dinner?”

“Don’t sound too sure, altus. He left you his number in some flowers,” Krem said slowly, trying his damnedest to be patient. “Doesn’t count, not with an easy out that big.”

Dorian thought about it for a bit longer, chewing on his lip, and when he scowled deeply Krem knew he’d finally realised something. “I was the one to suggest the place, and the time -- but he could have suggested something else, I wasn’t so married to the idea that I wouldn’t have--” Dorian made a frustrated noise. “This is ridiculous.”

Krem gave him a long look, but Dorian looked angrier at himself than Bull, twisting the rings on his fingers and muttering vehemently in Tevene. It wouldn’t hurt the altus to squirm a little bit, knock him down a couple of pegs. “It’s not you,” Krem said eventually. “Chief never asks for anything straight up. I think he thinks it’s selfish. Chief’ll give you the shirt off his back but he draws the line at what he wants.”

“That can’t be right,” Dorian said mostly to himself. “He wanted to tell me about his past, was very sure about it. Would hardly listen to me. And he asked for my time and I gave it to him, as much as I could. _Venhedis_ , I’m an absolute _fool_.” Dorian stilled and looked at Krem with wide eyes. “He asked for my time at the hospital and I told him I didn’t have time for anything because of my father’s illness. He must have inferred -- Maker, I’m an idiot, and an inconsiderate one too.”

“Maybe,” Krem said, “but so’s he. Probably thought he was making it easier for you by just disappearing instead of making you ditch him.”

“As if I would be so cowardly!” Dorian said, bristling with outrage. “As if I think so little of him that I’d be grateful for this, when I’ve spent all week waiting for him to--” Dorian started to blush and Krem couldn’t roll his eyes hard enough. They would be insufferable, but at least they would be insufferable together. “Where is Bull, Krem? I obviously need to clear up some misconceptions of his.”

“In the back,” Krem said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Probably in the break room having lunch.”

“Thank you,” he said primly, moving around the counter and headed for the door. “Uh, a last question, since we’re indulging in a little honesty session?” Krem rolled his eyes but gestured for Dorian to go on. “Why a florists? Surely the pair of you could have chosen to do anything?”

“Chief’s idea, if you’d believe it.” Krem rolled his head back and forth, thinking how he wanted to phrase this. “You get a lot of good news as a florists. You get bad news sometimes -- funerals, people getting sick -- but I don’t think any of that comes even close to the number of weddings we do. Chief’s a sucker for a happy ending.”

The quiet smile on Dorian’s face wasn’t for him, and part of Krem was embarrassed to see it. The other part of him wanted to thump the Chief in the shoulder and tease the crap out of him. “Thank you, Krem, truly,” Dorian said softly, and pushed his way into the back room.

***

Dorian immediately stopped short as the door swung closed behind him as he realised he didn’t know where the break room was. A tall blond man currently watering a tray of pinks looked over at him, whom Dorian could only guess to be Grim, and pointed towards a door down a short corridor with an eloquent grunt. Dorian nodded in thanks and headed that way, walking around the crates and assorted plants. He stood in front of the door for only a moment, having come too far to be intimidated by a simple plank of wood now, to say nothing of having to face Grim and Krem should he give up.

Iron Bull was crouched between two crates with his back to the door and his impressive frame obscuring whatever it was he was focussing all of his attention on. “I think we’ll have to order out for lunch,” he grunted without turning around. “Adaar is on the fritz again. I think this is it for her. _Asit tal-eb._ ”

“I’m not a Qunari,” Dorian started, and Bull jerked around so fast he clipped his horn on a crate with the most over the top surprised look on his face Dorian had seen outside of a soap opera. Behind him, a rather old and sad-looking microwave gave a muted ding. “But I’m pretty sure a microwave is hardly deserving of that level of solemnity.”

Bull stood up, his joints cracking noisily to fill the awkward silence. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were pink, and there was dirt on his palms that he was nervously wiping on his ripped and patched jeans. He looked good, and Dorian had missed speaking with him, and the first thing he’d done on seeing him again was mock him over a microwave.

“In retrospect, I probably should have thought of something better to say, but I just spoke with Krem and I had several revelations about what happened last week at the hospital and I guess I just --”

“Dorian, _breathe_ ,” Iron Bull said a little urgently. Dorian paused and took a deep breath. “OK, now. What were you talking to Krem about?”

“Krem spoke with me, actually,” Dorian said. Bull crossed his arms over his chest and quirked an eyebrow. “He and the rest of the hooligans you call employees have been plotting, and Krem ambushed me when I walked into the shop.”

Bull’s brows drew low. “I’ll talk to him about it, don’t worry. Sorry--”

“No, we are not doing that again,” Dorian interrupted sharply, “do not apologise.” He smiled to take the sting out of his words. “It was a good talk, actually. It helped answer some things for me that I had been wondering since we last saw each other.”

“Uh, it did?” Bull asked in a tone of supreme surprise, uncrossing his arms to rub at the base of his horns.

“Yes.” Dorian stepped closer to Iron Bull, and took a chance by taking his hand. Bull looked down at their hands and then back up at Dorian, his ears going pinker and twitching a little. “I will be in the inky-black depths of the Void before I allow my father any more control over my love life,” Dorian said with all sincerity. “If that wasn’t clear, that’s my fault, but I wanted to state it aloud since -- since it might not have been obvious. That you might have taken my being busy with my father as being too busy for this.” Dorian gestured between them, and he could feel himself starting to blush with the way Bull was focussing on him, his single eye almost a physical weight.

“What is this?” Bull asked quietly, gesturing as well.

“It’s something,” Dorian said, shrugging a shoulder. “Though it seems to be having trouble getting off the ground.”

“It just needs a little time,” Bull said with a slowly spreading grin. “We could catch a movie, maybe get something to eat?”

The sad thing was that, more than anything, Dorian wanted to say yes. That was not why he’d walked into the florists though, and the reminder was like a slap in the face. Turning Iron Bull down a second time, and for the same reasons, was terribly cruel and confirmed that whatever Maker there was had a petty grudge. “I can’t. At least, not now. As much as I don’t want my father interfering with my life, interfere he still does, and it is not solely my decision. Movies and eating, that is.”

“You’re not making a lot of sense, big guy,” Bull said, frowning. “If you want to say no--”

“No, I don’t want, but you might -- right, begin at the beginning,” Dorian mumbled to himself. “I found out who gave the lavender bouquet to my father. It was my fiancé and her family.”

“You’re engaged?” Bull said louder than it looked like he meant to, blinking in shock.

Dorian gripped his hand tightly, afraid he might let go. “Only in the most unofficial sense, Bull,” he said a little desperately. “Our parents arranged the union before either of us could walk and I’ve never had any intention of actually going through with it.”

Bull stared at him for a moment. “Fuckin’ Tevinter,” he said vehemently.

Dorian barked a laugh in surprise, putting a hand over his mouth to stifle any more inelegant outbursts. “Quite,” he choked out. Bull’s mouth twitched into a smile. “She’s vile too, but more besides the point, she is very decidedly _not_ my type.”

“What is your type?” Iron Bull said, waggling his eyebrow.

Dorian gave him a flat look that was spoiled by his smirk, swatting him on the arm. “I’m gay. That’s the problem.”

Bull frowned deeply in response. “No problem with being gay.”

“Oh, I have no problem with it, but my father very much does. He’d always rather hoped I might grow out of it, or at least consent to a marriage for appearance’s sake while privately loathing my bride, but I--” Dorian shuddered and there was no theatrics about it. A marriage like his parents had, like many Tevinter elite had, sent a chill through him that made him want to scream and run as far away from Tevinter as he could. Which was precisely what he had done, until his father had followed.

“I can’t do it, won’t be persuaded to do it. Will fight tooth and nail against it,” Dorian said quietly, and he didn’t realise he was staring down at the floor until Bull very gently lifted his chin. He looked at him with such a gentle expression, a warm smile and the creases around his eye deep enough to get lost in.

“Nobody’s forcing you to get married,” he rumbled with quiet surety, sounding like the movement of mountains. “If your father is doing something, we’ll protect you. If he’s threatening you--”

Dorian laughed. “I could handle threats. I _have_ handled threats, and my father is too clever to keep trying a strategy that has so far failed. I don’t think anything could have prepared me for his latest plan, however. My family has never been particularly warm and loving, but even for him it’s cold.” Dorian closed his eyes as his face twisted in pain. “I should have known that nothing is quite beneath him.”

Iron Bull’s broad palm moved to cup Dorian’s face, not holding him in place so much as surrounding him with warmth, the slide of his callouses against Dorian’s skin making him shiver delightedly. “Whatever he’s doing, we can help you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Dorian muttered. He opened his eyes again, though he couldn’t look at Bull, not when he was looking so earnest and concerned for him, and his eyes slid away. “My father has made it clear that he wants to see me married before -- before he dies.” Bull sucked in a sharp breath. “In fact, it’s his dying wish. If he could have written it into his will he would’ve, and I’m not entirely sure he hasn’t.”

Bull was quiet for too long. “That’s fucked up.”

Dorian chuckled. “That’s one way to describe it, yes. A new low, certainly, in trying to manipulate me into getting married and producing heirs.” He knew he sounded a little hysterical but couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up out of his throat. “Having my fiancé there while he told me this was maybe a little heavy-handed.”

“Hey, Dorian. Look at me.” Dorian could feel his mouth twisting into an unhappy shape as he steadfastly refused to look away from the sagging furniture and cracked plaster. Iron Bull sighed. “It’s manipulative but you’re stronger than that, OK? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, and it doesn’t change anything, whatever your dad is saying.”

“To my face, it’s all concern that I’ll end up alone and unhappy, rather than merely married and miserable. So I... persuaded him that I was not, in fact, alone.” Bull’s hand against his face twitched and Dorian’s eye’s slid closed again. If he hadn’t gotten it already, he would soon. “I detailed the fake relationship I had with a Tal-Vashoth florist whom I had met through a mutual friend and had been dating for ten months.”

“Know a lot of those, do you?” Bull joked, though Dorian could hear the strain.

“I came to ask for your help,” Dorian murmured. “My father, he wants to meet you. And it has to be you. I might have, ah, mentioned the horns.”

Iron Bull pulled his hands away. Dorian had expected as much but the rejection stung and worse was only to come. He braced himself.

“Ten months?” Bull said. Dorian could only nod, not sure where this was going but Bull didn’t sound angry, only curious. “How serious are we? And did you mention the name of the mutual friend?”

“No? Bull, what--” Dorian finally opened his eyes to see Bull had taken a step back and was rubbing at the stubble on his jaw with a look that was far too thoughtful. “Bull, what the fuck are you doing?”

Bull gave him a unimpressed look because clearly Dorian could only be pretending to be this stupid. “Figuring out how to make this work. Your dad just want me to make an appearance, meet the boyfriend and shake hands, or is he likely to pry?”

Dorian gaped openly for a moment, before the question even registered. “He’ll most definitely pry. He already suspects me of lying about the whole thing.” At Bull’s quirked eyebrow, Dorian could only shrug. “I ran away from home to escape marriage, I’m perfectly capable of fabricating a relationship. Which I did.”

“Wanted a Qunari boyfriend to really stick it to your old man?” Iron Bull smirked and there was something wrong with that expression after that question. Dorian scowled, not sure how to articulate the wrong-ness, but Bull was already moving on, grin turning sharp. “Are we boyfriends or do you prefer another word?” Bull’s eye sparked. “Are we _lovers_?”

“You _impossible_ \--” Dorian made an inarticulate noise of frustration. “Why are you saying yes? Are you completely mad?”

Bull’s smile gentled and he reached out to cup Dorian’s elbows in his large hands, which buzzed and warmed at the contact, yet something in him stilled and he was finally able to look Bull in the face for more than a moment. Eye contact had never felt heavy before Dorian had met Bull, and it was a little frightening.

“You said it has to be me.”

Dorian nodded dumbly, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for that smile to turn into something vicious and for Bull to laugh, _did Dorian actually think he’d meant it?_ “But that doesn’t mean you have to do it.”

Iron Bull tilted his head. “I know some Tal-Vashoth actors who could be your fake-boyfriend if you’d rather, but they’re not as _horny_ \--” Dorian pursed his lips in distaste and Bull chuckled. “Yeah, thought so. Probably better this way. If your dad is gonna quiz me, best you get an actual florist, right?”

“Of course, that makes sense.” It was perfectly logical and nothing Dorian hadn’t already thought, so why did it sting? It was less complicated this way, and it would hurt less when Halward drove Bull away.

“Maker, you’re going to meet my father,” Dorian giggled, relief making him heady as he finally allowed himself to feel just how ridiculous his plan was now that Bull had agreed to it. Halward was going to have a minor heart attack when he saw Bull, and simply imagining his face when he saw all seven feet of scars and horns and bad puns made Dorian want to howl. “ _Vishante kaffas_ , this entire thing is backwards.” Dorian flapped a hand between them, his fingers bouncing off of Bull’s chest. “How is it that you’re meeting my father _before_ we’ve even kissed? Absolutely absurd.”

“There’s an easy solution to that, you know,” Bull said, sounding the way spiced honey felt, and suddenly his face was right there, scars, horns, and all. It was definitely Dorian who had leaned in this time, a little unsteady on his feet until Bull moved to grip his forearms. The casual use of his strength, and his scarred mouth with no hint of a mocking sneer, soothed the lingering sting.

Dorian knew he had a dopey smile and something devastatingly witty was sitting on the tip of his tongue, but what he actually said was, “kiss me.”

It was only the gentle press of lips but it zinged through Dorian like lightning, sparking at his fingertips and making his ears and cheeks burn. It had been so long since he’d kissed anyone, let alone someone he liked as much as the Iron Bull, he might have whimpered. Dorian felt the press of Bull’s teeth against his bottom lip as he grinned, no doubt very pleased with himself, but then he swiped his tongue across his lip and Dorian groaned.

They didn’t kiss for long but Dorian was left breathless, blinking at Bull and probably looking more than a little dazed. Bull nudged his cheek with his nose, startling a giggle out of Dorian. “Between the two of us, we’ll handle your dad. Don’t worry,” he said, too warm and sure not to be believed.

Dorian smiled and dragged Bull in by the horns for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I am in no way an authority on flowers or the language of flowers. Everything was found via Google, so mea culpa if anything is way off the mark.
> 
> If you like this, you can send me a prompt on tumblr! I can be found at [personalspin.tumblr.com](https://personalspin.tumblr.com)


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